Questions
by Die Heiresses
Summary: Draco Malfoy is madly in love, and he knows it. Is he a fool to accept his crush's invitation to meet in private, or will it lead to something like what Draco hopes?


Draco spent much too much time thinking about Harry, if he was honest. Which he wasn't, but still. Some of the thoughts he had! Well, he'd just say this: they were the kind of thing that'd make professor McGonagall blush. He'd like to see _that_. Draco laughed slightly, and Crabbe cocked his head at him. Honestly! He couldn't get a moment of privacy in this place.

"Crabbe." The dunce actually had the nerve to look startled, even though he'd been looking at Draco just a moment ago. "Leave me alone, mate, alright?"

Gah! He hated how he was even beginning to talk like Harry—Potter, he thought. He'd be darned if he was going to act familiar with him. Goodness knows Potter didn't share his feeling. Draco shook his head, aware of how ridiculous he looked, standing in a hallway and shaking his head, but not caring.

A younger Ravenclaw who Draco had kissed in a broom closet once, on a lark, came up to him.

"Hey," the boy said, trying—and failing—to look seductive. Draco just shook his head and shooed him away, but the boy didn't budge. "I've got a message for you from a mister Harry Potter." The boy sneered, and Draco belatedly tried to force his features into something like a smirk.

"Yes, well, what is it, boy?" Draco determinedly tried to keep a foolish grin from spreading across his face. It wouldn't do to let anyone know his feelings, not now. Nor ever, for that matter.

The boy cleared his throat in a dramatic manner, causing Draco to sneer, and began to recite the message. "Dear Mister Malfoy," he began, and already he felt his heart sinking. If he was addressed so formally, then the business was not of the sort that he hoped. "Meet me by the big oak right by the lake on Sunday, around four? I have some, shall we say… _questions_ to ask you. See you there! Love, Harry."

Oh! Well. Draco wasn't so disappointed after all. Questions. He had some _questions_ of his own to ask Harry.

"Thank you. Get on your way, now." The boy rushed away. "Just a moment, actually," Draco said. He had to make sure of something.

"Yes?" the boy said. "Do we, ah, need to step into a classroom?" Draco shook his head, for once not annoyed at the boy's boldness.

(Or too distracted to care. Sunday. That was an eon away.)

"You didn't tell anyone, did you? That I'm…"

(Well, Sunday was tomorrow. But still!)

The boy rolled his eyes. Then in a lower voice, he said, "That you're gay? No." He shook his head. "I'm not stupid." Then the boy walked away, swishing his hips in a manner that was clearly for Draco's benefit.

Lands. He should be worrying if anyone had heard the conversation, but instead he was thinking—again—about Harry. He thought he was justified in calling him Harry, now that he'd received that note. He let his mind stray to Harry's lips. They were nice lips, indeed.

* * *

Sunday dawned bright and early, but Draco was already wide awake when the sun rose. He hadn't slept much that night, thinking about what that afternoon promised. He walked down to the dining hall with a scowl on his face. Better look overly miserable than overly happy, he thought.

He revised that theory when he spotted Harry, though. Harry was sitting with his pathetic little buddies. (yes, they were pathetic. Even if Draco did think that Harry was cute, the boy had awful taste in friends.) Harry had a wide grin on his face, though whether it was due to their upcoming meeting or to the fact that the Weasley girl was sitting to his right, cracking jokes, Draco didn't know.

Regardless, he allowed a grin to cover his face.

"Oh, what's _up_ , Draco?" said a cloying voice to his left. "You look _ever_ so happy. What did I do?" Pansy Parkinson.

"Nothing," he said through clenched teeth. "I'm just in love with this sausage this morning, is all." He then stuffed a whole sausage into his mouth, which looked ungraceful but had the added benefit of leaving him unable to talk for some time.

* * *

Though he was appointed to meet Harry at four, Draco was sitting next to the lake by three thirty. He tapped his fingers on a log lying perpendicular to how he was seated. He looked at the sky, whistled a tune, and finally resorted to getting up and walking in circles.

His watch beeped, and Draco realized that it was five minutes past four. Maybe Harry was just late.

After a time, he heard a creaking in the oak. He rushed to investigate, glad for something to occupy him. Peering down from the tree were two identical redheads. The twins. Draco's mind jumped to the obvious conclusion.

"You _pranked_ me?" Draco's mind was blank.

"Erm…" said one twin.

"That would be yes. Yes, we did." Darn it, he couldn't tell one of these blasted weasels from another.

"You see, we saw you with that midget Ravenclaw—"

"And we saw how freaking _obsessed_ you are with our boy Harry—"

"So we put two and two together."

"Decided it was high time for some justice."

"After all, you've really been a pain in the rear to Harry—"

"Ron—"

"And Hermione." The twin drew out her name suggestively. This was probably Fred, he thought.

"Just wanted to make one thing clear."

"We're not doing this out of any hate for gay people."

"We've got no hard feelings for you all."

"We're doing this out of hate for you."

Wow. Draco hadn't believed then capable of such an act. He'd thought then practical jokesters, but he'd underestimated their loyalty to their brother and his friends.

"Ta ta!" The twins turned synchronously on their heels and walked away, perfectly in step. God, those two were a walking clichè.

And good God, he was a fool. He should have seen disappointment looking him straight in the eye the moment Potter—or rather the twins had mentioned _questions_. Potter was much more direct Or perhaps just much more bull-headed. It was hard to tell sometimes.

Draco stood up, brushed off his behind (yes, even he got burrs stuck there) and headed back to the castle.

* * *

There was nothing for it. For once, Draco saw the ridiculousness of it. Someone of such prominent birth and—Draco didn't mind admitting it—someone as handsome as he, chasing after someone? Why, _he_ should be being chased after, not the other way around. Draco shook his head. It was hopeless.

(Harry. That fool. That handsome, handsome fool.)

Draco walked inside, bumping promptly into Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson. An idea gripped Draco.

(God, he wished Harry was gone. Or had never existed. Or was with him.)

"Crabbe? Goyle? Mind leaving Pansy and me alone for a bit? I need a word."

(It was hopeless now, wasn't it? So it did no harm thinking about Harry.)

Crabbe and Goyle grunted assent, and Draco and Pansy say down on a cold stone bench.

(God. Harry _was_ handsome, truth be told. No wonder the girls, and quite a number of the boys, as well, always gawked at him like fools.)

"Draco," Pansy said, patronizingly. "How _are_ you?"

(Why should Draco think about him? And why was the word _him_ so linked in his brain to Potter?)

Instead of replying, Draco turned to Pansy and kissed her.

(It really wasn't fair. Harry was always everywhere. Draco wasn't even safe in his own mind.)

Pansy wasn't bad. But she wasn't good, either. The Ravenclaw boy was better.

(Harry probably would have been better, too.)

Pansy was making all sorts of odd sounds, obviously intended to make her seem passionate. And maybe she was. But Draco wasn't, which was possibly why he wasn't disappointed when a familiar voice interrupted.

"Oh, am I interrupting something?" Harry—Potter—said, not trying to keep the disgust out of his voice.

(His voice. His voice was annoying. Actually, perfection. Bliss.)

"No," Draco said. "What do you want?"

"I. Um. Snape told me you could answer a few questions I had about Potions."

Wow. Draco couldn't blame Potter, not knowing what the word _questions_ meant to him.

(Still. _Questions_ , indeed.)

"Okay." Then, after an awkward silence, he said, "Do you want Pansy to leave?"

Pansy scurried away, leaving Harry and Draco alone together.

(Alone together. Lots of opportunity for…whatever Draco wanted)

Draco felt suddenly nervous, and he tried to keep a straight face by smirking. Potter looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"Look, I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't have to. Here, I've written down a list of some questions I had. Take a look at them?

Instead of answering, Draco turned to Harry, and like with Pansy, he kissed him. Hard.

Draco tried to enjoy it, since Potter was, unlike Pansy, a rather good kisser. But it had to end at some point, and Draco had the feeling that he wasn't going to like what came after.

Finally, even Draco had to admit that he needed to come up for air. When he did, Potter sprang apart from him like they were magnets who's wrong ends had been shoved together.

"What the hell was that for?" Harry was almost shouting. "Were you trying to suffocate me?" That handsome idiot.

"No, you dolt." Draco felt surprisingly calm. "I was kissing you."

"Bleagh!" Harry spit into a bush. "I suppose I'll found someone else to help me. I don't know what came over me, asking you, of all people."

Draco turned, and shrugged as Harry left. He was being rather calm, and to an outsider it would have seemed illogical. But an outsider wouldn't have felt what Draco had felt.

Because despite what Harry had said afterward, one thing remained true: Harry had kissed back.

* * *

Pansy Parkinson stood just out of hearing distance from Draco, hopeful. Draco walked past her. She turned to face him.

"Draco?" she said. "Can we…I mean, can we do that again."

Draco smiled his charismatic smile, the one that had half the Slytherin in love with Draco. "Now? No. Later? We'll see."

Pansy turned and watched as Draco walked back into the school, wondering how anyone would ever be able to turn a guy like him down.

If only she knew.


End file.
